


red

by MaryPSue



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: F/F, is there even actually anything shippy in this mess we just don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryPSue/pseuds/MaryPSue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They hadn't let Mina go to bury Lucy, the second time.</p>
<p>That had been their first mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red

_“…I long to be with you again, building our castles in the air…”_

…

The headlines tell a story of a ‘Bloofer Lady’, thin as a dream, nursery-rhyme substance filling the streets with childish chanting. Mina can’t go anywhere without hearing high voices singing the fairy tale, shrieks mingling with laughter.

-  _a crash of shattering glass, a snarl, a scream -_

The red wool wraps around her throat, flaps behind her like a brand.

The Bloofer Lady steals children, leaves them shining-eyed and pale-cheeked at the cemetery gates. They are unharmed, save for the pinpricks at their throats. One or two bright beads of blood stain their collars, but no more.

_- “…I must have transfixed it with the pin!” -_

_(her dreams are full of flapping, red pennants, black wings, beating incessantly about her face until she is sure she must smother)_

There have been eye-witness descriptions published. They are all quite clear. The Bloofer Lady is the stuff of moonbeams and cobwebs, silvered in the before-dawn dew, her long hair like pennants streaming, flags for ancient conquerors seeking territory on new soil.

None of them mention red.

_\- her eyes, so hard and strange not a moment before, turned soft with all the love the world could not hold as she pressed her pale little hands to Doctor Van Helsing’s and breathed her thanks -_

None of them mention the red of her lips, fresh-snow sparkle of her gleaming teeth when those lips drew back in a smile. None of them mention her mist-and-shadow self, so firm, unyielding under a curious touch, the familiar softness turned as hard and strange as the eyes. 

_(there could yet be love, of a kind, in that place all good things had deserted, in those lifeless arms, amongst those for whom love had fled long eras ago)_

The singing is coming from outside the circle. The circle is there for her protection. The circle will keep Mina safe until dawn.

(They hadn’t let her go to bury Lucy, the second time.

That had been their first mistake.)

_\- the bat beats, beats, beats its wings against the window, and Lucy, poor Lucy, lying senseless on the window seat, her shining hair fluttering softly on the breath of evening wind -_

“Come, sister,” one of them calls, made of air and snowfall, phantasm with bloody lips. Have they already found the others? Already broken all her brave good men open, spilt the hot blood inside? 

_(A breadcrumb trail of crimson drops leading from cemetery gates to mausoleum doors. A wisp of white gauze, caught on a corner of the marble. A fairy. A dream._

_Any child would follow her.)_

The red wool scratches Mina’s cheeks, catches her breath and makes her feel like she’s drowning. The circle is there for her protection. Jonathan’s voice calls from below, safe, whole, living. The wind is only wind. The snow is only snow.

Soon, the sun will rise.


End file.
